CD - Talking is Important
by CalicoDiamond9
Summary: Sam Winchester hates hunting. He hates it with a passion and a vengeance; it just isn't good to say that to Dad's face. Teen!chesters Warning: Contains language and parental spanking of a minor. Please don't read if this offends you.


**Talking is Important**

John Winchester closed the Impala door with force, shifting his weight into the "ideal" driving position. The small cabin smelled of sweat, musty carpet, and home. The only sourness spoiling the moment was his youngest son's expression.

Riding in the backseat, fifteen year-old Sam sullenly leaned back against the seat, as if by making his disdain so apparent the world would agree with him. John sighed. He turned the key in the car's ignition, listening to the calming roar as the engine started. Dean shifted quietly next to him, gaze flicking between the two and their all too common show down. Sam was mad. Come to think of it, he was mad too.

Actually, that didn't begin to cover it; he was furious, and disappointed, and tired. They drove for several minutes in silence until John growled, "So, what was that?"

"Nothin'." Sam spat back.

John glared at his teenage son, "Wanna try that again, son?"

Sam turned with a look of loathing. "I'm done with all of this. I thought I made that pretty clear, _sir_."

"Watch your tone, boy." John growled. "When I leave you with Dean, I mean for you to follow orders. That means training and then school." His answer was simple enough.

Sam let out a frustrated huff. "Skipping a few sessions isn't bad, Dad! I was doing fine on the hunt…. If you'd just listen—"

"Are we gonna have a problem, son? Because we can have our talk right here and now—"

"No sir. No problem." Right, as if there wasn't always a problem.

John nodded, "You'd better hope so. You train to be strong, to follow orders so when you hunt with me, you don't make mistakes. Mistakes, which will have your sorry ass dead in a minute. When I give you and order, you follow it. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir." Sam replied tightly.

"Well, you better try pretty damn hard, or we'll find a place to pull over." John rumbled as he continued to drive, scrutinizing the fifteen year-old. Suddenly, Sam shot up.

"Why do you always have to be like this?" Sam exclaimed.

"Like what?" John growled.

"Like this! You are always acting like I have to do everything right. You are always making me do stuff. I hate this life!" Sam's voice cracked despairingly.

John glared. "I am-"

Sam lost it and yelled, "I hate you! You're trying to be some amazing warrior a get revenge for Mom, well I have news: she's never coming back."

"I'm not trying to be!" John roared. "I'm trying to help you and keep you safe! And I am responsible for you. I have to think about what's best for both of you. We're family-"

"No you're not! All you care about is yourself and ordering us around like we're your personal, little soldiers." Sam spit hatefully.

John swerved the car, pulling it off the black top and onto a dirt road. Sam looked horrified in the backseat, realizing what he'd done. Dean cast a quick glance at his brother as if pleading for him to shut up and not make it worse.

John said nothing; he only made to get out of the car. Dean grabbed their father's arm.

"Dad, come on. You're both tired. We just finished the hunt. Can't this wait?" Ah, Dean, always sticking up for Sammy.

"No, Dean." John replied gruffly. "Sam needs to learn his place." John growled, as he allowed a threatening amount of bass creep into his voice and pulled his arm roughly from his son's desperate grip.

With that, John got out of the car. Sam noticed and out of curiosity, cracked an eye open to see what his father was doing. John was quickly around the side of the Impala and opened his son's door. Pulling off Sam's seatbelt, John grappled with the lanky teen, pulling him out of the truck.

Sam was almost as tall as his Dad and although he was strong, he was no match for the retired marine, who easily drug him over to the trunk of their car.

"No, Dad. Dad, please… no!" Sam's protests turned to whines as his father tossed him over his left knee with ease.

With that, John brought his hand down with a solid smack to Sam's backside. Sam grunted by the unexpected pain that blossomed. Sam struggled to yank himself away from his Dad, only earning two more equally hard swats.

Now John began to set a tempo; he spanked fast and furious from left to right, up and down. The heat began to increase in Sam's rear end, causing him to struggle more fervently to free himself. He kicked his legs as the swats rained down painfully, until John trapped him under his right leg.

With resistance futile, Sam focused on remaining stoic. He glanced into the rearview mirror, seeing Dean's pensive expression. John noticed the change in the teen and pushed him forward on his leg, lifting it slightly. With that, if it was even possible, he began landing harder swats to set the undercurve of Sam's behind on fire.

It didn't take long of the painful regularity and the stinging heat in his butt for Sam to begin to squirm again. John moved back to the crest of his son's backside and the young boy began to gasp and 'owe' at each swat. It had been a relief for John to concentrate on a new area and the renewed efforts on the tender skin was increasing painful.

John continued, hearing the hitch in Sam's breathing, intending to break his stubbornness. Again, he targeted the sit spots and finally, the dam broke. Sam began to sob. "'M sorry! Soooree!" The tears were continuous until he lay limply over his brother's knee. With a final fifteen swats, John finished the spanking and righted his youngest.

John stood to meet the boy, pulling Sam into a rough hug. Sam sobbed brokenly into his father's shirt and the two stood on the old, quiet highway together for a time. Finally, Sam's crying began to ebb and he shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm sorry Dad. I should've listened to you." Sam whispered hoarsely.

John nodded, squeezing the teen's shoulder comfortingly. "Make sure it doesn't happen again, son. I do want what's best for you." He looked into the watery, red eyes of his son.

Sam nodded.

"Can't hear your head rattling, son."

Sam took a deep breath, swiping at his nose. "Yes sir."

John nodded approvingly, releasing him. "Good. Lets get back on the road."

The two made their way to their respective places in the car, climbing in with only minor difficulty. Dean watched them, knowing full well this wouldn't be the last time something like this occurred. Damn kid… he quirked a smile as Sam tried in vain to find a comfortable position in the back. The teen finally settled for lying down with his back end hanging off the seat. Dean shook his head, turning back to watch his father's stoic face.

The Impala roared to life and John steered it back onto the old road. It isn't much, but they were family.


End file.
